


Hearsay

by phornex



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Late Night Conversations, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-05-09 04:58:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14709506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phornex/pseuds/phornex
Summary: Harry didn’t learn about his wizarding roots until the age of 17. Now he’s lying in bed with a war-torn Draco Malfoy, learning about his parents from a Slytherin perspective.





	Hearsay

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Hermione Granger's Hogwarts Crammer for Delinquents on the Run](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7331278) by [waspabi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/waspabi/pseuds/waspabi). 



**Author’s note**

This fic is based on the AU in [Hermione Granger's Hogwarts Crammer for Delinquents on the Run](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7331278/chapters/16653022), which in turn is based on [this prompt](https://heythisisbecky.tumblr.com/post/91905068086/do-you-ever-wonder-what-would-have-happened-if-the). You don’t need to read it to read this short piece (the prologue should get you caught up enough), but you should read it, because it's great. 

-

**Prologue**

Harry stared up at the ceiling, taking stock. Six months ago, he’d been a normal 17-year-old living in London; struggling to pay rent, working illegally behind the bar at his local, trying to forget about years of neglect and a parentless childhood. Okay, so not _normal_ normal. But then these people had walked into his life - Hermione, Ron, Luna, Ginny, Neville and Draco - saying things like _You’re a wizard, Harry_ , and _You’re in danger, Harry_ , and now here he was, living out of a weird bigger-on-the-inside tent in the middle of the city, regularly meeting with a clandestine group called the Order of the Phoenix, and taking magic lessons from a bunch of teenage rebels to prepare for a war he was supposedly going to help bring to an end.

It wasn’t all bad, though. He was also lying next to Draco Malfoy.

-

 

Draco rolled over and sighed. “I can’t sleep.”

“No,” Harry replied, “Me neither.”

“It was probably all that red wine. God, I haven’t drunk that much in ages.”

“You took one of Horace’s Sober-Up potions though, right?”

Draco winced. Everybody who had studied at Hogwarts was having a hard time referring to the older members of the Order of the Phoenix by their first names. “Yes, Slughorn made sure of it before I Apparated us back.”

“It was fun tonight, listening to them talk about the old days.”

“You should have seen the look on your face when McGonagall was talking about your dad breaking the Herbology greenhouse roof.”

Harry laughed. “It’s good to learn about my parents,” he said, “but I’m starting to feel like Remus and Sirius were giving me a rose-tinted version.”

“Yeah I’ll say. You should hear some of the stuff I’ve heard-- Oh. Um.” Malfoy’s smile faltered. He tried to recover, but Harry had already caught on.

“Really?” he said quietly. “What have you heard? You didn’t say anything.”

Draco paused, then sighed. “I’ve heard some stuff from my parents,” he admitted, “But I don’t think you’d want to hear it. My family are Death Eaters, they’re not Potter family fans.”

“Yeah, but…” Harry hesitated. He didn’t want to hear anybody speak ill of his parents, least of all Draco, but he also didn’t want to pass up the opportunity to learn more about them. What they were like, how other people saw them. “Look, I promise not to take it personally. What have you heard? Did your parents go to school with them or something?”

“Yeah. Yeah, they both did. My dad was a seventh year Prefect when your dad started. He’s mentioned it over the years, whenever he started reminiscing about the good old days, and how they ended.” Draco’s mouth twisted into a momentary grimace; Harry knew that Lucius Malfoy’s good old days largely involved hoods and casual torture. Draco continued, “About how your dad was… Honestly, are you sure you want to talk about this?”

Harry reached over in the dark, and squeezed Draco’s hand. “I’m sure. I don’t think it will upset me much to hear that your dickhead father didn’t much like mine.”

“Alright. Well, your dad had a reputation for being pretty arrogant, even as a first year. Him and Remus and Sirius used to knock around together, skipping classes, playing pranks. Peter Pettigrew used to run with them, too - you know, the guy who--” he tailed off, unsure how to finish his sentence.

“Yeah, I know.” Another squeeze, and Harry’s thumb thoughtfully circling Draco’s knuckle. “I know all this stuff already.”

“Yeah, but you’ve always had it told to you in a way that makes your dad sound like a lovable scamp. The way I heard it, your dad was… kind of a dickhead. A bully. They all were. I mean, not like my dad. My dad is inventing new ways to be a dickhead. But, you know, your dad was kind and loyal to his friends, and an arsehole to everybody else.”

Harry chuckled. “A bit like you then.”

Draco snorted, “You reckon? Fuck, my dad’d go spare. Harry Potter drawing comparisons between James Potter and the sole Malfoy heir.”

“While we lie next to each other in bed.” Harry helpfully added, grinning.

“Yes,” Draco was grinning now, too, “Holding hands and everything. I might send him an owl in the morning and let him know.”

Both of them laughed, and Harry held onto the sound before reality slowly crept back into the room. Harry pulled Draco’s hand up to his mouth, kissed his fingers softly, and breathed into them. Draco hummed appreciatively.

“I reckon I’d hate your dad.” Harry said. “He sounds like a right pillock. I’m glad my dad pissed him off. I’m glad me being here with you would piss him off.”

They lay in comfortable silence for a while. Then Harry spoke again.

“Did your dad ever mention my mum?”

“Er. Yeah. Sort of. I mean, it’s sort of less funny, you might not find it as entertaining as…”

“Yeah, yeah. Come on, out with it.”

“Well, when my dad was at school, your mum and dad… didn’t get on very well. At all, actually. Like I said, your dad was a bit of a bully. He picked on her a lot.”

“Oh.” Harry frowned. He’d carried around with him an image of his parents as teenagers, meeting in hallways, breathless with first-date anticipation. The idea of his dad picking on girls he liked made him cringe. It made him think of lads on street corners, shouting at women, hoping volume and confidence would make up for lack of personality or charm. It made him uncomfortable to think of his dad being one of those lads, with Sirius and Remus and Peter jeering behind him.

Draco hadn’t noticed Harry’s mood shift. “Yeah,” he continued, “and he was always picking on Snape--”

“Who’s Snape?”

“He teaches potions at Hogwarts now. Or he did, anyway. He was in their year at school. Was best mates with your mum for a while - pretty weird, for a Slytherin to be friends with a muggle-born - but like the rest of them he went over to the Death Eaters and they fell out.”

“Oh.” Harry said again. He thought about his mum, rejected by her sister and her best friend, learning that the people she’d trusted didn’t believe in her humanity, in her right to live. Then being pursued by a school bully. His eyes stung, and he had to concentrate to keep his breathing steady.

“My dad always used to say he never understood how somebody like your dad could manage to win over your mum, that maybe she wasn’t all that bright after all--”

“Alright, alright,” Harry started, surprising himself. He felt a bit defensive of his mum. “Sirius said my dad started to get his act together in seventh year. They were both… Top Girl and Boy?”

“Head Girl and Head Boy,” Draco corrected him, gently, “And yeah, he probably did. My parents both left Hogwarts when your parents were second years. Sorry, I was just repeating what my dad said, I didn’t mean--”

“No, I know, it’s okay.”

The room fell silent again. Harry thought about his mum and dad, about the picture of them in Sirius’s photo album, waving out at him. A knot formed in his stomach. It wasn’t much, but Sirius had glossed over a few details, probably to spare him - and probably to spare himself, too, Harry thought, remembering the way Sirius’s face softened when he talked about James and Lily. Filling in the blanks was good, even if he didn’t like what was there. He blinked back the tears that had formed in the corners of his eyes, and took a deep breath.

“Thanks for that, Draco.”

Draco didn’t respond. Harry turned to face him, curled an arm under his neck, and wrapped the other around his waist. Draco’s breath was short and chopped. Harry realised with a start that he was sobbing.

“Hey, now, hey. No secret crying, we agreed. Besides, you’re not the one who just listened to his--” _boyfriend_ , he nearly said, then stopped himself; this probably wasn’t the time to get into that discussion -- “listened to _somebody_ slagging off his dead parents.”

Draco took a deep, stuttering breath. “I know,” he said, “I’m sorry. I just… I believed all of it, for years, Harry. I just accepted it. I accepted that they were all arseholes, that you were probably an arsehole, that your mum and people like her weren’t good enough to be in our society.”

“Shh,” Harry whispered, “You were a kid, Draco. Here, sit up.”

Draco sighed, but started to lift himself up; Harry did the same, and reached for his wand. He had gotten used to this, these midnight confessionals and whispered regrets. They all had. He would hear Hermione and Ron up late at night, see the wandlight under the door, feel the creak of floorboards as Ginny and Luna woke from nightmares and crossed the hall to seek each other out. They were all trying to keep it together in a war that Harry was still struggling to understand.

Draco and Harry sat facing each other in the dark. “ _Lumos_ ” muttered Harry, and a warm glow illuminated the space between them. Not for the first time, Harry found himself staring intently at the shadows that fell across Draco’s face. They were more striking than the light, somehow.

“Listen to me.” Harry spoke firmly, resting one hand on Draco's shoulder. “Look at me. You were a kid, Draco. You were a kid when you learned that stuff, and you were an adult when you decided it was bollocks.”

“I didn’t… that wasn’t it, at first. I was just too scared. They wanted me to join the Death Eaters, but I couldn’t. I was a coward.”

Harry had heard it all before. Untangling Draco’s self-loathing could be a full-time job. It took infinite patience. “Yeah? Well, I reckon not wanting to kill people isn’t really the criteria you should have for cowardice. You looked critically at what was happening and decided you weren’t on board. You walked away from a dangerous cult of murderous fascists, some of whom are your direct relatives, to sit in a fucking tent on Hampstead Heath with me.”

Draco still looked pained, but his face softened. “It is a shit tent,” he mumbled, a half-smile creeping across his face. Harry made a mental note to take Draco out muggle camping one night, to see how he would cope in a tent that didn’t have multiple rooms and a private bathroom. He wanted to take Draco away, far away, where his war couldn’t touch him. But failing that, a two-man tent on some horrible patch of farmland in the rain would do.

“You’re not one of them, Draco,” he said quietly. “Maybe you were once, but you’re not now.”

Silence filled the room. Harry knew that Draco had heard him, could see the internal conflict running through his head. He’d found that the best way to snap Draco out of it was to do something to drag him back to the present. He leaned forward, and placed a gentle kiss on Draco’s nose. The strange silliness of it was enough to make Draco blink, and look up into Harry’s eyes.

“I’ve got you,” Harry said.

“I’m sorry I told you all that stuff about your parents,” mumbled Draco.

“I asked you to. And I’m glad you did. Nobody else would have. And it’s good to know a bunch of Death Eaters thought they were worth complaining to their kids about.”

Draco smiled. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Harry sighed, “I mean, I feel bad for my mum, and a bit annoyed with my dad. But he was a kid. Like you were.”

“Yeah.”

They lay down once more, and stared at each other, listening to the sound of their breath and the slight hum of Harry’s inexpertly-cast _Lumos_. When Draco’s eyes began to flicker, Harry kissed his forehead, and drew the covers up around them. “ _Nox,_ ” he whispered, and the light faded.

 


End file.
